That Which Goes OVER Must Eventually Come Back UNDER
by Atsuyuri-sama
Summary: You weren't in a good way, when you found the baby. But you couldn't just leave the poor thing there, no matter what you wanted to do with /yourself/.


**Title: That Which Goes OVER Must Eventually Come Back UNDER**

 **Rating:** T (14+)

 **Summary:** You weren't in a good way, when you found the baby. But you couldn't just leave the poor thing there, no matter what you wanted to do with _yourself_.

 **Warnings:** Unidentified reader, second-person POV, implied neuroatypical characters, non-binary character, allusion to suicidal thoughts, death of a background character, temporary unwilling experimentation and imprisonment of minor characters, improper care of an infant, domestic raising of a child, magical compelling of a child by an inanimate object

 **A/N:** Thanks goes to zarla-s on tumblr, without whose Handplates AU this one-shot – born around the question of 'How in the world could a lone child have gone up a mountain that "everyone" knew nobody ever came back from?' – would have never gotten off the ground! And additional thanks to my beta shapeshifter-ari, also of tumbr, without whom it's likely I would've pulled a Napstablook and squirreled this away.

The mountain was a feature in your region – with its size, it was seen for nearly impossible distances, and had been for as long as anyone knew about it. It was no surprise, then, that the mountain had been written a large role in local legends for _centuries_. It even had a legend all on its own.

You and your friends grew up with it; your parents, and their parents, and even _their_ parents, did the same. Everyone knew it.

 _There once were monsters,_ was how it always started. This was the part that was most fun for the kids hearing the legend for the first time. _They were strong, kind, made of magic, and worked alongside all of humanity with ease. They were of ice and snow; fire and earth; air and breath and freedom. They wore skins and feathers and scales in all shades and shapes. And each monster grew up learning the magic skills of their parents, so that each monster skill was passed down and lived on. They could make stillness sing, cause the world to flip on its head, control the elements, make things appear and disappear at will, and do even more than can be imagined by humans who've never met them._

 _It is said that one of the powers possess by_ _ **all**_ _was that they could bring out a human's soul to judge it with a blink. It was never done without cause, or such was supposed to be the rule. However, when a monster didn't like a human, the monster would do this very thing. It is said that this happened once too often, in spite of the truce, and the king's daughter and six children from noble families were judged together and found wanting. The seven children died not because their bodies were injured, but because their souls were shattered by the monsters involved._ This was the part that made parents frown, and children fear, and teenagers jeer and insist that – were it them – the monsters would never have been able to do that.

 _Humans grew to fear the monsters' powers, instead of respect them. Tensions built. Eventually, the two – humans and monsters – began to war. Everyone had to pick sides. A scant few humans who had been friends with monsters returned to the rightful side, and brought with them the secret of magic to the humans._ Wild imaginations gleefully re-played this idea, pretending to be the brave human spies. There were many plays written around that very subject, full of mystery, intrigue, and the One True Hero having braved horrible monsters and terrible traps, just to return with the perfect solution to winning the War. _Few humans could handle magic. But those who could… They were_ _ **powerful.**_ _And the monsters – soul-wielding, fearful magic-built creatures, all of them – began to fear the humans, now._

 _Over time, the human wizards gained the advantage. They were able to drive all the monster forces together, because they could_ _ **control magic,**_ _and monsters were_ _ **made**_ _of that magic. Thousands upon thousands of monsters, once spread all over the land, now existed piled up together on the high, unforgiving sides of the great mountain._ Adults used this part of the legend to teach: if you want something bad enough, work hard enough for it, and are doing it for the right reasons, it will come. They tended to ignore the 'went to war' part well enough, in your sarcastic opinion.

 _Seven powerful wizards came together then, to perform the ultimate sacrifice – seven wizards for the seven lost children who had started it all. Using every drop of magic they possessed, they gave up their lives to seal the dangerous and powerful monsters under the skin of the great mountain. A Barrier went up, through which one can enter, but then never leave. That is why it is called Mount Ebott, because in the tongue of the wizards who sealed the monsters away, 'ebott' means 'the leaving place'. And so there lay the bones of the war, buried beneath the earth with the monsters; on some quiet days, if you stand near the peak, it is said you can even hear the echoes of their war-cries._ That was the end of the 'fun' legend, the one that parents passed down to their kids in a fit of nostalgia and for the childlike wonder that surrounds magic and mystery.

The _other_ legend that had been built around Mt. Ebott – the darker, shorter knowing, which no one spoke in reach of young ears – was the one that whirled in your thoughts now, as the air on the mountainside played with your hair. It was the one that everyone learned, whispered in high school corners to scare fellow students, passed along by mouth so that every adult eventually knew it, though no one spoke of it.

 _Ebott is the Leaving Place, and those who climb it never come down._

No one in their right mind connected the kids' tale to the missing cases. Because really, it was fanciful: monsters, honestly? Who believed in monsters anymore, or magic? No one. But if a person was last seen headed up the mountainside, people knew to never expect them again.

Once, when your mother had been a little girl she'd heard the story of a frantic father who had begged the police to help him search up there for his son. The force sent a group of four officers with the man. When three days passed, and no one had heard from any of the five rescuers, the legend was reinforced once again: These days, not even the police would go up there. (And, presumably, neither did murderers… or, if they did, they were just as lost as their victims.) At least you knew you wouldn't be followed, or stopped, if you got far enough.

Strangely, too, as though the magic surrounding Mt. Ebott was real… when you decided to go up, every eye that saw you seemed to slide off and away, as though you were not-quite-invisible. You boarded the bus, and got off at the base of the mountain without any trouble, even when the bus stop there had, technically, been abandoned for decades and was ignored regularly by the drivers.

You were tired. You were alone, no matter where you went. You were ready to just go away and not look back. The mountain would do as well as any place, and it looked peaceful besides.

You walked up to the mountain carefully, taking in the wild place untouched by human hands, and were relieved. You stopped to breathe the fresh air, and nibble on the crackers you'd accidentally left in your pocket. And you slowly made your way up to freedom, and a chance to never come down.

By the time you were almost to the peak, it was nearing nightfall, and you were wondering if this was it. You shivered, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Did people just come up and never go down, dying slowly and alone? Did something live in these steep rises which eventually devoured wanderers?… Did the feeling of unseen watchers drive climbers like you slowly crazy? Were there (and this was ludicrous, but you couldn't help thinking it, here and away from all you'd ever known) actually deadly monsters who would drag you passed the Barrier and judge your soul to a shattering point?

A tinny, breathless, _human_ whimper distracted you. That was strange: you hadn't heard of any disappearances lately…?

What you found was definitely worse, and dropped a stone of horror in your belly.

Nestled among the rocks and scraggly grass of this high up the mountain, swaddled in a dirty and torn scrap of cloth, and shielded from most of the elements by an overhanging, was unmistakably a baby (toddler? They all looked the same to you). Someone had… brought a _baby_ up to be lost on Mount Ebott?! You might want to disappear, but you were old enough to make that choice, however selfish, if you wanted to. This poor thing couldn't, and wasn't, and that wasn't fair.

Immediately, you wriggled close and pulled the child into your arms; they were large enough to prop on your hip, but worryingly chilled. It took a little work, but eventually you managed to back out from under the overhanging with your hands full, and stood up while trying to shift your center of balance appropriately. An aimless, helpless glance around only showed you a nearby cave; you could use it for shelter, sure, but otherwise you were without supplies! You'd never planned for… _anything_ like this.

Ten minutes later, shivering in the dropping temperatures, you conceded defeat. You walked cautiously into the cave you'd seen earlier.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry someone just left you here," you whispered, voice hoarse with disuse. You cuddled the snuffling kid closer. When they called out weakly, _No, wan' Win',_ you curled over them protectively (good _Lord,_ you'd misjudged them; they were old enough to _talk?!_ ), and murmured what you hoped was comforting nonsense in a low voice. The last thing you heard before passing out was the quiet, quick thrum of the young pulse under your fingers.

You dreamed of a man with a mournful moon of a face, a smile that wasn't a smile at all, and hands that couldn't hold anything inside.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

The warmth of the sun on your skin was what first pulled you to wakefulness. The weight and warmth of a body in your arms was what made you _wake up._

Startled, you recalled the day before. The resolution, the mountain, the climb, the toddler. You were less startled – but still a little saddened – to find that the child had shattered your resolutions, at least for now. There was no way you could die with the knowledge that you'd let a young life die, too. That said, getting to the mountain had been like magic – no witnesses, glazed eyes, an unaware bus driver – and you couldn't help but wonder if it (whatever it was) would let you _back down,_ under the circumstances.

You really hoped it would. For the kid.

In the light of day, you looked down and inspected the person who you'd suddenly decided was worth claiming responsibility for. A dark thatch of hair topped a round face, and olive skin stretched a little more thinly over their frame than made you comfortable. Dark lashes fanned over the curves of their cheeks, and their tiny lips pursed in their sleep to occasionally suck on the little thumb they'd shoved in their face. Beneath the colorless rag that had covered them, they were dressed in a striped black-and-yellow onesie that was, definitely, too baggy on their slender frame.

You brushed your finger gingerly over their forehead and over the bridge of their nose, then fingered the lock of dark brown hair that flopped into your field of vision, and sighed. Wide, round, dark eyes stared back at you, as dark as yours and your father's had been, and as round as your mother's, if not yours. Were it not for the fact that you'd never been in a relationship (let alone of an _intimate_ nature) with anyone…. Well, this child could easily be yours.

A pudgy hand gently patted your cheek, and solemn eyes stared you down, worried. The kid was _worried about you._ Your heart clenched, and you became ever-more wrapped around their finger. You'd always been more fond of children than any of the people your own age.

Muscles stiff and protesting of the treatment from last night and all yesterday, you groaned as you hauled yourself to your feet, once more propping the child on the crook of your hip, arm wrapped securely against them. They gave you a tremulous smile, gripping your shirt like a lifeline.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's see if I can't get you back—uh, back to my place." It was time to get out of here. Even if home didn't feel like home anymore, it was the only place you knew you could go back to right now.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

It was much harder to find the bus stop the second time around. You were pretty sure now that, without the kid, you'd've never been able to get back down the mountain. There was no sympathy for a decision made and enacted willingly, but there was some to be found for innocent kids just caught up in a bad situation, apparently.

The bus ride back was similar to the trip there, only in reverse. The closer you got to your stop, the more you could feel curious eyes pinned on you and the obviously poorly-cared-for-child who clung to you like a barnacle. You twitched, trying to ignore the strangers, still used to the general space your 'pay no attention to the depressed person' attitude had recently given to you. You were immensely relieved to reach familiar streets and the excuse to flee the crowd.

It had only been a day, but walking back into your empty house felt like walking into an abandoned home. Clearly, you'd… not been taking the best care of it. The toddler still sitting comfortably on your hip couldn't care less, but that didn't mean you weren't embarrassed by the dust, and half-heartedly cleared dishes, and stuffy air. Despite knowing that food should probably be the first thing on the menu, you headed for the bathroom. While they bathed, you could wipe the bowls down and heat up a can of soup, maybe.

You set them down in the bathroom, and knelt to help them out of their clothes after turning on the warm water tap of the tub. Their tattered blanket and the onesie were both set aside to wash; the diaper they wore, on the other hand, made you wince. _Those_ you definitely didn't have. Suddenly, it struck you, just how _not_ prepared you were, to foster a spontaneous child.

The fear that you won't be able to do right by this child chilled you so violently that your vision swam, abruptly. You blinked, and found that you've completely dropped to both knees, and the child in question has climbed into your lap and curled up against you, patting your shoulder clumsily. Tears made your vision swim, now, and you wrapped your arms back around the kid – and _wow,_ do you need a name for them, too?! – for a moment.

As you gently removed the diaper (finding it amazingly and thankfully dry, so you set it aside to reuse, at least until you could buy some more, later this afternoon), a twinkle of metal caught your eye. Without the collar of the onesie to contain it, a dog-tag hung in front of their sternum from a ball chain necklace, now visible. The chain had been double-looped – thankfully, _through_ the 'tag, or you would've had to find the idiot who'd done it, just to show them how _easy_ it was for a toddler to mistakenly choke themselves on something like that; even you knew better – to keep it from ending up around their navel. Half-hoping it would have information on their family (so you could find them), and half-hoping it doesn't (so you don't commit spontaneous murder), you turned it over in your hands.

 _FRSC  
DT Pos.  
STBL_

You blinked, nonplussed. This… sounded medical. You couldn't make heads or tails of most of it, but that last bit looked troublingly like the word 'stable'. Now you _really_ hoped you never met the one who'd take them to Mt. Ebott, because they'd likely been left there because of difficult medical issues. And people who abandoned others for being sick – especially when terminal/serious illness wasn't exactly something that anyone could control – were just, _ugh_ —!

… Well, if your father could abandon your mom when she was in the hospital dying, you supposed it was… something some people did. But you _hated_ people like that, and always would.

The child whimpered, and you jumped. You'd been clinging tightly to the 'tag, and scaring them. Shame tightened your chest even as you quietly apologized, carefully lifting them into the filled tub, warm water sloshing gently around their tummy when they sat clumsily with a delighted squeal. They immediately began to splash around, spraying water everywhere. A wry, tentative smile turned up the corners of your mouth; at least they had a delightful disposition.

Quickly enough, you realized that – without help – there wasn't going to be any _bathing_ happening, just lots of water-based fun. Well, you could always just wipe down the bowls while the soup _microwaved…_

(Bath time was… wet. But worth it. And they enjoyed the soup, too, with a surprisingly good grip on a 'big person' spoon. Just one more thing you'd have to pick up. Oops.)

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

That night, with Frisk (so you were a little unimaginative; it _was_ sort-of _basically_ the first thing on the only identifier they had) tucked into your bed in new PJs, pillows on either side ensuring you neither squished them or they rolled off the edge, you dreamed again.

 _The sadly-smiling man had returned. His entire body was a shifting mass of gloop, and his head was basically a cracked, half-melted skull. You shivered, and hoped to wake up soon._

 _When he opened his mouth, raw_ _ **sound**_ _spilled out; it wasn't words, you didn't really think. It sounded more like a faulty sound card in a laptop: uneven, jumpy, and full of white-noise. And it was_ _ **loud**_ _. Even if it was rude, you didn't care, when you clapped your hands over your ears._

 _Abruptly, the man stopped, and his face looked startled, and then dismayed._

 _He reached out to you, helplessly, and you flinched back from the holes in his hands. The empty spaces where his palms should be reached out to you, growing bigger and bigger, and still bigger until—_

—there was blood in your mouth. You'd bit your own lip clean-through, to keep from screaming.

At least you hadn't woken Frisk.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

Ideally, you needed some kind of documentation for Frisk, you knew. But, even searching through the records of towns an entire drive away yielded nothing. There was no missing children (or, rather, young, run-away parents with children of Frisk's apparent age and appearance). Your sudden child had _literally_ come out of nowhere.

You didn't know what to do.

If you approached the proper authorities about getting documentation for your kid, they were going to want specifics…. You hadn't recently been leading the kind of life that said you were capable of caring for _yourself,_ let alone a _child;_ Child Services wouldn't let you keep them even if you were a certified foster parent (you weren't, and the starting process for that was far too long to consider for the sake of this case). Frisk was, at the moment, all you had; you _weren't_ going to let some strangers take them away!

Dedicated to your new charge, even as you panicked and fretted, you kept up a happy mask, making sure they were fed, clothed, and didn't get into any of your not-quite-yet child-proofed cupboards. They didn't need to know you were worried, because you would handle it (somehow); they just needed to know that they were loved, unconditionally. Hugs, kisses, and delighted games of tickle-monster: You could do that, easy. So you did.

And the days, then weeks, passed.

Every day, you got them something new – whether it was something that they liked, or something else that you'd learned on the fly was good for kids their age (at this point, you were guessing, roughly, two or three). Every day you watched what they ate, and made sure they spent time with you, and gave them toys to amuse themselves with. You set a nap time just after lunch, and cued up television specials aimed at kids, and tried to maintain a bedtime routine. You took them to the park, and worked with them on numbers and letters (they were never too young to start learning), and survived every bath-time with a grin. You searched high and low for the most reputable baby-sitters, and installed nanny cams in your home, and almost cried with Frisk the first few times you had to leave for work and leave them behind.

And every night…. Every night, the man invaded your subconscious like an old cheese stench. Through sheer unwilling exposure, you were learning how to communicate with him (and learning how to not succumb to the sheer _terror_ that he seemed to unconsciously provide you with). You weren't quite sure that you wanted to be learning the things you were learning about him, either. But two things stopped you.

Firstly, while you could _recognize_ a dream, you weren't one of those people who could do what they wanted in them, or wake up on demand. Whatever power this guy had to keep coming back (and even in the beginning, you were convinced that he was real, and not just in your head), you couldn't stop him coming if you wanted to.

And secondly, whenever he visited, if you mentioned a problem you were having, upon waking there was a solution – whether it was physical copies of various documentations, or you'd somehow obtained a list of known allergies, or even just the presence of their favorite blanket the day after their first melt-down. It was creepy, of course: Some mystery guy, obviously not human, was getting into your house, _and_ he was leaving things for you, sometimes. But… well, you couldn't deny that it was helpful. Without the papers, you wouldn't have been able to get Frisk in to see a doctor, if they'd really needed it, for example.

Between a series of gestures, a number of drawings, and what could only be his memories, you learned… a lot about the guy. For example: he was a monster, he didn't _technically_ exist anymore, and his name was W.D. Gaster.

The stories about Mt. Ebott had been real (sort of, basically), and monsters really _were_ sealed into it. Gaster had been in charge of finding a way out; along the way, there was some kind of accident (he still hadn't gone into great detail there), but it meant that he didn't, and hadn't _ever_ existed, which was mind-boggling all on it's own; and he was directly involved in the creation (though not birth) of Frisk. Gaster felt just as responsible for their well-being as you did, and that was why he was going to all those lengths to be sure you could care for them, even when leaving you a physical item tended to leave him mostly worn-out and quiet, unresponsive company the next few nights.

The news that Frisk – while completely human, Gaster firmly assured you – wasn't normal, and was in fact born in the mountain, was shocking. It also explained why there was no sign of them before you found them. But you also wanted to know _why_ they'd been left the way they had; it was one of the questions you weren't willing to let Gaster avoid if you could help it.

And that's how you learned about the main objective of one Doctor Wing Dings Gaster, Royal Scientist, in a cascade of memories that lasted for weeks.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

 _Clearly, if he was going to find a way through the Barrier, it was going to involve SOULs. There was no way around that, and there never really had been. But… he wasn't a conventional thinker, and never had been, and what he had in mind to test wasn't… exactly_ _ **moral,**_ _perhaps._

 _…_ _He would just have to go to great lengths to hide his work from Doctor Alphys and King Asgore, then, wouldn't he?_

 _The idea was to learn what it took to house a human SOUL, and build something that could withstand it's power,_ _ **add**_ _a monsters' SOUL, and then use it to free everyone. The Barrier could be breached from the inside, and then the subject would go and collect six other human SOULs to break it from the outside._

 _He had on-hand, for the initial testing, a fractured human SOUL. The human had fallen, but died on impact, and such results weren't strong enough directly to resonate with the Barrier, so the King let Gaster have it without too much questioning or fuss; it was going to be much harder to get a whole one, when the time came. It would, at least for the moment though, help him start to understand the nature of the human SOUL._

 _He spent a number of long, sleepless days running any and all the tests he could think of on it. It was how he discovered both DETERMINATION, and the unique way that the raw SOUL reacted to contact with his own. Then he pretended that the SOUL had given out; the King wanted to see what had been learned._

 _He demonstrated DETERMINATION to the King, and gained a lab assistant to further research the application of it, hopefully, in monsters. This was good, because he loved working with mysteries (he_ _ **was**_ _a scientist), and it was something he could show the monsters eagerly awaiting results without unsettling them too much. But it was also annoying, because it took him away from what was quickly becoming his more favorite (and increasingly even more amoral) experiment._

 _He started doing his best work in the dark, after that._

 ** __/ &\\__**

 _The first one was an accident; the second, hours later, not so much._

 _Even years after their creation, Gaster was convinced that this was why the second was more proportional, far stronger, and quicker to heal. Intent means so much, when dealing with magic._

 _Project: Wing Dings (WDG) had begun._

 ** __/ &\\__**

 _His two most successful experiments were proof that a half-human, half-monster SOUL could exist, and also that it could be contained relatively easy inside a monster body. Admittedly, the bodies resembled humans at their roots far more than any of the other monsters, but… well, they resembled Gaster, quite a bit, too. And that was what mattered: They were monsters, and they were capable of using (small, very small, though thanks to some accidents the smaller one was actually_ _ **very**_ _good at handling larger doses for limited times) DETERMINATION._

 _He thought it would be enough. That either one or the other would be enough to cross the Barrier and free them all, and then he wouldn't have to worry about how_ _ **unethical**_ _he was being, or how he was beginning to_ _ **feel**_ _for the half-monsters he'd brought into this world. Then he could call them by a name instead of by number, and distance wouldn't matter anymore, and maybe he could make up for all the LOVE he was still-yet accumulating at the cost of their independence._

 _He snuck them passed the King's rooms late one night, threatening WDG-1 S with a careful application of Blue Magic and a materialized bone to keep both him and WDG-2 P quiet. Then, he presented them with the hulking, humming mass of the Barrier, and told them to try and break through it. They tried all night, to no avail. He spent weeks trying to understand why. Again and again they returned, each of them desperate in their own way for this_ _ **next**_ _attempt to be some kind of success. Night after night, one tried, frantic with the desire to keep his companion safe, and the other desperate for the younger, at least, to be given a chance to know something other than the inside of a cell and endless, unwilling experiments._

 _Gaster was both dismayed and expecting the failure that came. Failure, and getting back up to try again until_ _ **something**_ _worked, was the nature of practical science._

 _That didn't mean that – facing the reality that there would be more, after this, because he couldn't do it right the first time – he didn't feel his already partial SOUL crumbling faintly at the edges. He didn't want to keep doing this, even the monster world was depending on him._

 _The weight on his shoulders grew with every breath._

 ** __/ &\\__**

 _What he needed, Gaster cautiously found himself concluding, based on the results of the fledgling DETERMINATION experiments that Doctor Alphys was currently running, was a human body, and a human SOUL, complete and whole. If then, and_ _ **only**_ _then, he added himself to the mix…. It would kill him, at this rate; he didn't have much of a SOUL left. But it would do the job._

 _It would_ _ **have to.**_

 _Resolved, Gaster asked the King about using a live human in an experiment. He wasn't surprised when the man declined his request. He tried again, and again, on different days and in different ways. He always got the same answer. If it was one thing the King wasn't willing to add to his list of misdeeds, it was allowing a living, self-aware being to be locked away and unwillingly used as a part in a science experiment, even if it was for the betterment of all monsterkind. Eventually, it got to the point where – looking impossibly old and as weary as Gaster himself felt – King Asgore simply greeted his appearance with a searching gaze, before quietly shaking his head, turning away._

 _Gaster could understand. It was why he kept the two in the basement a tightly-sealed secret, after all. (This would just be… just one more sin, crawling on his back, then. What was one more, when he was this far along, really?)_

 _Tired to the bone, and growing more numb each day, he adjusted his schedule once more. Now, he began to pull aside the fabric of the world every evening between checking on his charges, stepping into nothingness and stepping out onto a patch of flowers that only one person ever laid eyes on, these days. It had been difficult, to find the place in the monster world where humans appeared – it had taken weeks of data crunching, until he dreamed (and sometimes spoke) in numbers and binary and strings of computer code. It had been far less difficult, once there, to understand that this was where the ex-Queen had fled. She left a unique mark wherever she went, that one._

 _He stood there, and waited (always waiting, forever, lately)._

 _One day, his prayers were answered. A human fell. And in the same breath, horror shook his tattered SOUL as, from the shadows, he watched a flower – filled with DETERMINATION and lacking a SOUL, as gold as the single specimen that Doctor Alphys had once experimented on, unmistakably brighter than all the others that had grown since – destroyed his hopes. It laughed madly as it struck the human; it called it's attack 'friendliness pellets', and drew the poor woman into trusting it when she was obviously lost and frightened; it showed a cruel face of teeth and venom, and eyes darker than anything Gaster or his 'children' would or could ever manage, even with empty holes for eyes, were the last thing she saw._

 _Then the flower looked around, smug in the silence and the loneliness (it never noticed Gaster, half-hidden in the pocket of space-time which brought him here). It burrowed back into the ground with speed and ease. It left a cooling corpse in it's wake._

 _Gaster moved at the first opportunity, scooping the body up in his arms and fleeing with it before the Queen – who habitually checked the Ruins, for fallen humans – could find the evidence. Back in his lab, he laid the body out carefully, arranging it's limp limbs with far more gentleness than he'd shown anything in a_ _ **long**_ _time. Then he stepped back from it, and threw a fit more appropriate of a toddler than a man of his age and experience._

 _Streams of Blue Magic swirled around the whole of his secret lab, avoiding only the eye of the storm: The still body on the table. Metal plates tore free of their moorings in the walls; instruments rooms away crashed into ceiling tiles; chairs came apart, only to collapse in a useless heap of wood and nails; computer screens cracked, and lightbulbs shattered, shards suspended, whirling wildly, in the air; doors came off their hinges with angry metallic shrieks of protest; his screams, ragged and heavy with sobs he didn't try to stop, echoed hollowly down the empty halls._

 _He'd been so_ _ **close**_ _to finally ending this! To giving it the last bit of what he had left to give; to finally just being able to let go and let what happened_ _ **happen!**_ _He was so, so—!... He was so goddamn_ _ **tired.**_

 _A tiny human SOUL, too new to be anything other than monster-white, plucked mindlessly at his senses, stirred by his display; it froze him completely, startling him back to (what was left of) his sanity. Blankly, he looked at the corpse; it had come, impossibly, from there. Slowly – as though anything, after his ridiculous tantrum, had even the_ _ **slightest**_ _chance of scaring it away – he crept forward to investigate. The bright green of a human SOUL consumed by kindness had shattered beneath the darker green of choking vines – he had seen it happen, mere minutes ago. So, how, where, why…?_

 _Nestled in the over-large abdominal cavity of the woman was the presence with the undecided SOUL. He'd never seen a human come into being before, and had thought it might be something similar to monster procreation: The appearance of a squalling infant where two SOULs met and mingled, temporarily. He'd always been a monster of spatial and relativistic sciences, never biology; bodies and their functions had never, and still did not, appeal to him in the slightest. The closest he came to that kind of thing was 1-S and 2-P, while testing what they were capable of handling, to understand their odd creation better. Even that had been unseemly, and they weren't_ _ **bodies**_ _in the most literal, messy fashion of 'body'._ _ **This…**_ _uncomfortably intimate, and vaguely-nauseating display – of… what, internal nesting? – made him flinch away entirely._

 _It wasn't nearly as bad as the cold-blooded murder of the mother. Nothing could match that. But it was still gross. And he was… fairly certain a completely-formed human child was still clinging to life_ _ **inside**_ _the corpse at that moment. The human infant definitely represented a renewed chance, but he would have to get it out, first._

 _Gaster shuddered again, before pulling a scalpel close and steeling himself against the inevitable mess. Science was sacrifice. Second chances never came without effort, or a price._

 ** __/ &\\__**

 _Within half an hour, it became clear that the child was, undoubtedly,_ _ **the**_ _most helpless creature Gaster had ever had the misfortune of meeting._

 _As soon as he'd pulled them free, their fluttering SOUL had reached out to his own, snagging a loose bit before he could stop it. His world reeled, and he nearly collapsed right there; he'd been right about not having much left to give, then. At the same time, looking down to find the human's SOUL quite comfortably containing his tiny bit of self, he knew that his other suspicions had been correct, too: This child was going to be what left the Barrier, and freed them all. He just had to… get things to the point where they would_ _ **know**_ _what they had to do, was all._

 _Better said than done. They didn't look like they even were aware of_ _ **being aware,**_ _so far. He had no idea how to care for an infant monster, and – as their mother had pointed out, even dead – humans were obviously different, anyway. And, at this point, there was no way he was bringing someone with more child-care experience into this. Calling in anyone else would be_ _ **demanding**_ _that all his carefully-laid plans be cast to ruin; that wasn't an option._

 _Still. Covered in fluids from various orifices, just as tired as he'd ever been recently, and now with a building headache, he contemplated putting the thing down and joining it in it's inconsolable tears. Instead, gathering the shreds of himself back together, he placed the infant on the floor – where they couldn't wiggle away and find harm, hopefully – and did what he always did at this time of day: He checked on his two charges._

 _Seeing them, and the metal-flash of the designation-plates drilled into their hands, reminded him of why and what he was doing. His resolve settled once again. The child was_ _ **still**_ _their best hope at the moment. Subjects 1 and 2 had still proven themselves – while interesting, and study-worthy – not adequate for the task ahead. Therefore, he had to care for the child until he could figure out how to make them do what was needed. That was all, and he would make it as simple as he could; step-by-step was how he'd always gotten large things done, and a project of the size this was building to be (how long did it take humans to mature, anyway?!) would be no different._

 _…_ _But his eyes were still drawn back to his two first subjects._

 _With the human infant now the focus of his work, these two had no purpose here. Not really. And… Gaster had wanted to let them go for a while now. Had seen them as people in their own rights, and not just experiments, for a while now. He couldn't afford to be distracted from caring for the child just because he had two other living beings that he had to keep alive, as well._

 _Without allowing himself to think too hard on it (he was piling all his eggs in one basket, but did it really count when he only had one egg left?), Gaster withdrew his keyring and pulled open the door to their cell. He couldn't bring himself to look at them, but he did point down the hall with a hand that didn't shake, and he was proud._

 _"_ _Well? What are you waiting for? Get out, go! Don't go anywhere but up and out, and don't be seen doing it; the last thing I need is to leave_ _ **more**_ _questions in my wake. What you do now is up to you. I don't need you anymore!" He tried to sound aloof, callous and above this. He only ended up sounding flat and preoccupied._

 _He was never more grateful than that moment that he was taller than 1-S and his empty eye-sockets, or that he'd successfully conditioned 2-P to not so much as touch him. That blank, barely-suppressed anger would have upended him, and a hug, however impulsive, would have probably shattered what was left of his SOUL. Long after their footsteps had faded, he left a carefully-penned note of resignation, and subsequent title-passing, on Alphys' desk. She would make a good Head Royal Scientist. Far better than his own shady, shoddy attempt._

 _He retreated to the basement lab, and sealed all the exits completely. No one could enter or leave without him; he was officially off the monster grid, and left to himself and his final charge. The walls echoed emptiness back at him. This_ _ **had**_ _to work; otherwise, he was going insane for no reason. He pushed the thought away with a frown. Nothing would work if he was forever worrying it wouldn't._

 _Now he only had the child to worry about._

 ** __/ &\\__**

 _(Distance had obviously done him no favors last time, but habits were hard to break. He refused to drill into a fleshy hand, but it was the work of moments to hang the appropriate tag around a tiny neck._

 _Thus began, formally, Project: Flesh Resonating SOUL Containment (FRSC)._

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

Even with as gruesome a beginning as you now knew they had, you couldn't bring yourself to regard your amazing little three-and-a-half-year-old any differently than before Gaster had presented you with nearly a fortnight's worth of his remembered hopelessness and spiraling depression (as though you didn't have enough of that without his help…!). They were a child, and they were perfect. Besides, it simply wasn't nice to judge people on things they couldn't control about their lives… and this was definitely a case of that.

Instead, you kept going as you'd been going: Being the best guardian to Frisk that you could be. The longer you kept at it, the easier it became, too!

… Well, okay, 'easier' was, perhaps, an overstatement. Raising a child was anything but easy! But you began to recognize patterns in their behavior, and learned their favorite things, and figured out how to deal best with tiny tantrums. Putting it all together meant that now, you _felt_ like a parent, and that when you read those help-books, certain things jumped out at you that made you grin – you already knew about those hang-ups when it came to child-rearing, and wasn't that novel?

You took them to their first playdate, on the beach with a bunch of other single parents playing in the waves. You took them to their first doctor's appointment – full of required shots, and betrayed screaming. They 'helped' bake their first cookies (and ate a handful of dough when you "weren't looking"), and chose their first patterned comforter (they were adorably fond of Mulan) for their child-sized bed. They were having almost more firsts than you could keep up with, though you certainly did your best. It was delightful to watch them grow, react, and exist amid it all, anyway.

(That said, you _hated_ signing Frisk up for daycare. It had to be done, sure, but…. They could get hurt without you, or sad, or any number of things! Even a babysitter knew better, because Frisk was the only one they were watching, and they had your number on speed-dial! You'd never imagined you would be one of those notorious helicopter parents, and it made you grimace.)

The day they _did_ come home sick, you were filled with validated vindictiveness… for all of the two minutes it took Frisk to sneeze a wet, snotty patch all down the front of your shirt. Then you just worried over the clammy forehead and shivering body in your arms. You remembered being sick as a kid, but it was _so_ different on the other side of that! What if it was worse than you remembered?! What if you were missing some key symptom, and they were actually going to be _horribly_ ill unless you did The Thing that would protect them?! You were panicking, you _knew_ you were being unreasonable, and yet there was no help for it: Your baby was sick, had never been sick before, and you had _no_ _ **clue**_ what you were doing. You were going to panic, thank you. And then you were going to _fix this._

Going to the doctor was less of a chore than you suspected it might be; Frisk slept fitfully through most of the waiting, and when there proved to be no shots involved, they seemed perfectly content to be examined by the doctor and all of her interesting instruments. It was after that – back home, snuffling miserably, and faced with a spoonful of medicine – where the war began. If you'd thought healthy three-year-olds were a handful, you had obviously never faced a three-year-old who was cranky because they simply didn't feel well.

When they slept, so did you. It was, between the fever-whining and the half-constant low-key crying, the only time you could do so.

Within a couple of days, they got over it and returned to school. (You, of course, were laid up in bed, ill as they had been. You didn't know if Gaster badgering you about _their_ health, or _your_ health, every time you closed your eyes long enough to dream, was worse. It was definitely harder to do the parent thing in a fog of achy muscles and droopy eyes. You just wanted to stop feeling like you'd been run over with an ice-cream truck already…!)

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

The fact that, even for a four-year-old, Frisk had large amounts of stubbornness was concerning to their teachers. You, in turn, shrugged in a what-can-you-do fashion, and did what you could to teach Frisk how to _best_ apply their will – climbing the tree on a dare, instead of one-upping the other child by finding a way to the roof, or standing firm _against_ a bully, as opposed to standing _on_ the bully, for example. Frisk wasn't willing to listen to anyone but you when it came to matters of the heart.

It would have worried you, that they were far smarter than, perhaps, they should have been. They were more inventive, and intuitive, than you'd ever been at that age, at least. Already, they were able to tackle second-grade level books with a little patience and concentration. It was both a point of pride, and a breath of concern; their brilliance was already setting them apart from the other not-quite-preschoolers. Ultimately, they proved that this was no problem, as far as they were concerned, however. Their people skills were horrible: they preferred to play alone, and read in corners, and when they did interact with the others it was more out of confusion and why-am-I-forced-to-be-here-with-you.

… It _would_ have worried you, had you not seen the exact same personality traits every night, in Gaster.

Considering he had, apparently, kept slowly feeding pieces of his SOUL to the infant in spite of the risk of his own mortality, the result really made sense. In his memories, you watched Frisk slowly wither away without the proper nutrition and care that an infant needs…. And you watched Gaster, uncertain and frantic, do the only thing he knew how to do: fill them with his SOUL, and with the single, concentrated vial of DETERMINATION that had been left in his part of the lab. Frisk survived, although you (neither of you) were certain how, or if this was the best way things could have panned out.

In the space of a handful of weeks, you watched the memory of Frisk's body be warped and stretched, growing by otherwise-impossible leaps and bounds thanks to the older SOUL still constantly mingling in greater and greater amounts with their own. It was grotesque to you, seeing it from the prospective of someone who knew what a healthy human growth-rate looked like. In his memories, a hapless and guessing Gaster was merely pleased that the child wasn't, by a miracle, already dead or dying. When they even began to demonstrate that they were learning, he grew ecstatic. In fumbling and haphazard attempts, slowly he taught them how to move, in rolls and wiggles, since it seemed to be – at first – all they could really retain. But as they began, too, to babble and sputter, he imparted language – and, with both of these things, awareness of self – on the child who was to be their savior.

When you distanced yourself a little bit from what you were seeing, it was almost cute, watching a fumbling, concerned, naïve monster try to raise a growing, rapidly learning (mostly) human child. Hearing Gaster stutter, and dither, and finally give up and allow the child to call him 'Wing' because 'Doctor Gaster' and even 'Wing Dings' were just too complicated for Frisk's still-developing palette to pronounce. (It was also very sad; you were in the perfect position to feel just how lonely Gaster was, and just how awkward even this single-person interaction was making the self-imposed, guilt-riddled recluse feel.)

So as Frisk learned more and more, and grew wonderfully mobile, Gaster slowly wilted, growing weaker and more delusional. But he never forgot that Frisk was _Important,_ and also _Vital to the Survival Monsterkind,_ so at least he didn't hurt them.

That didn't mean he didn't hurt himself, though.

It was an accident when it happened, in the same way that slicing yourself with a knife when you've dumped all the dishes in water so soapy you can't see what you grab is an accident. True, it was a surprise… but it wasn't altogether unavoidable, if he'd taken the proper precautions. Gaster was tired, and not paying attention, when he was crossing the overhanging that passed across the part of the Core that reached into his lab. You watched him fall, and the memory _shook_ you from the inside out, as your mind revolted against understanding the concept of being so thoroughly wiped from existence that time itself forgets you ever were.

The last of his SOUL, a bare fragment, was torn across time and space. The barely months-old Frisk (or two or three, depending on interpretation), bearing the rest of it, was alone and unknown in his lab. Already not in the greatest condition from the forced growth and lack of food, they did not fair well without him. He saw this, from the not-place he now resided, and with the only drop of DETERMINATION he'd ever consumed, he opened a shortcut through space-time directly in front of Frisk. It was only by the virtue of his being ultimately outside the Barrier that allowed him to place them where he did… and even that was almost too far from the Barrier.

Your presence had been felt, but also incidental. He'd calculated it so that _someone_ would be coming by when Frisk appeared, but hadn't cared who. He'd latched himself to them, and to you by proxy – even out of this world, he was responsible for his final work. Gaster would be as much a help to you as he could be (and he had been, truthfully, thinking back).

And, of course, now _you_ were the one in charge of teaching (and wrangling) a rambunctious, ever-learning, too-small-for-their-age, and too-smart-and-determined-for-their-own-good young child. It had been nearly a year, and they still knew how to keep you on your toes. You did enjoy it, though. Frisk was _yours,_ and you _loved_ them with everything you were.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

As the years passed, Gaster visited you (overtly, anyway; you could feel his eyes silently watching more often than not) less and less. You knew all there was important to know about Frisk and their early life, and had long-obtained everything you needed to ensure that they were – for a value of 'legal', considering the papers had literally come out of nowhere – legally yours. It was up to you to ensure they lived long and well enough to return to the mountain and do what they'd been born to do, and child-rearing wasn't why Gaster had contacted you in the first place.

The older they grew, the more you wanted to keep them from such a responsibility, though. Nobody deserved to harbor the fate of an entire race on their shoulders, and certainly not a _child._

The older they grew, the more apparent it became that they were different from their peers, even so. Frisk didn't quite fit in with other human children, and everyone could feel it, though to be fair it was something about them that wasn't immediately apparent. They went through the motions well enough, though their propensity for _not_ talking if they were overwhelmed with emotion was enough to make even the most observant person stare at them during their worst off days.

Your heart went out to your child.

Three years after you found Frisk – they were five, and you had never felt more alive – they asked about the mountain. They wondered about where they'd come from (because you'd never seen fit to lie and tell them you were related by blood; it would be cruel, and unnecessary, because you didn't love them any less, but any child learning the truth after a lie like that would be likely to think so). They looked around at the human world you'd gently pulled them into, and you could see the _understanding_ and the _discomfort_ at finally recognizing they were different build in their eyes.

You kept them mostly happy, and did what you could. They stayed, and barely ever rocked your two-person boat, and they were content with you. But you could also feel their DETERMINATION growing by leaps and bounds that was unheard of in any other human.

Things seemed to move much more quickly (and much more inexorably) than before.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

The years passed. They looked at the not-so-distantly looming mountain more frequently. In their sleep, if it was uneasy, their SOUL would shine just above their breastbone: a ruby-blood light seeping from beneath their door, staining their sleeping face with roses when you peeked in to look.

They stopped asking where they'd come from; they came back from the library more often, burdened with volumes borrowed from the Mythologies Section, instead. You worried that it wasn't because _they'd_ stopped wondering, but because they'd started worrying that _you_ were worrying.

They didn't grow into anymore of a recluse than they'd ever been. They kept up their education, and laughed and played with you like normal. But you knew that whatever force it was that had kept you shielded when you first went up the mountain was – to all appearances – calling out to Frisk. You brought your concerns to Gaster…. All he did was shrug sadly at you; he'd watched Frisk grow up, too, and this time through your eyes. He was just as reluctant to let the human child do something so dangerous, though there was ultimately nothing for it.

One day, when they were eight-and-a-half, they didn't come home from school; you didn't need to wait long before panicking. They'd been doodling the mountain on the sides of their homework for weeks now. Everyone you thought to ask got a bit distant when you asked about Frisk, and their answers were fuzzy, _Oh, I think I might have seen them,_ and also, _Maybe they were… headed in that direction?_ Without thinking about it, you knew where they were – it was a small matter to get in your car and drive like a bat out of hell for the base of Mount Ebott.

You arrived just in time for the bus to come to a stop, and a distracted Frisk – enraptured eyes pinned on the towering peak – tumbled out on adolescent legs.

You waited until the bus was gone (partially because you couldn't get enough air into your terror-achy lungs until that point) to shout their name. Watching them spin around, light and life returning to their face, in place of that frighteningly blank, compelled expression, was wonderful. Feeling their arms wind around your neck as you knelt to meet them was just as good.

Eventually, they reluctantly leaned back, scuffing their toe in the dirt. _I didn't mean to make you worry,_ they signed, discomfort stealing the words from their mouth.

You were aware that the last thing they wanted was to worry you; they were too careful of you and your feelings for that to happen, and too sweet to want to hurt anyone else, either. Just because they weren't just like other human kids didn't mean they didn't have compassion and feelings.

"I just—I think about it a-all the… time," they stuttered, cautious and a little desperate and trying _so_ hard to use the words you never _demanded_ they use, but that you knew others teased them for. "I dr-dream a-a-about i-i-i—" Unable to push passed the block, the noise of a stalled vowel stuck in their throat, they want back to signing again, hands flying with frustration and shame that you wished you could soothe. _I dream about it – about what's gotta be under there. Because… I think something is, you know?_

You did know.

 _… I don't want to disappear. I just feel like… I dunno, I_ _ **need**_ _to go._

Relief filled you so swiftly that you nearly fell over. You grabbed Frisk back, burying your face in their shoulder. They hugged you back, and let you shake without comment. When the setting sun (and why was it always setting here when important things happened to you?!) began to make things chilly, you pulled away and ushered them into the car. You offered them any take-out they wanted. They hesitated, still uncertain, but gave you an answer anyway.

Nearly half-an-hour later, as you waited in the drive-thru, quietly and without meeting their eyes in the rearview mirror, you took a deep breath, and said the words that made your parent's heart bleed.

"I know that you need to go there, Frisk. I… can't claim to feel the same, or understand it from your perspective, but… I know you need it. I won't stop you. I just—Wait, please? For me? Wait for one more year: until you're ten."

A wordless noise of protest made you hold up a stalling hand, briefly meeting their unusually wide-and-focused eyes.

"I'm not stopping you. There are some things you need to know, if you're…" a wry smile touched your lips, and your gaze darted to the dark, melting figure with a cracked moon-face flickering in your passenger seat, his own expression similarly darkly-amused, " _determined_ to do this. There are plenty of things that I was keeping until you were a little older, a little better able to handle, and they might help you. Can you wait long enough to learn? For me?"

They waited until you were back home to grab your hand, squeeze it carefully, and nod. You were grateful.

 **_OVER/ &\UNDER_**

You didn't pull them out of school, much to their disappointment. If you did, the other humans would eventually notice something was off; besides, just because they were training to be the savior of an entire race didn't mean that they couldn't use what school taught. Also, it was a little over a year until their tenth birthday, and you were not having a rambunctious child run claim all over your shared house while you were at work.

They pouted, but went with it.

When their work was done, and it was the late hours of the night, or with the weekend spilling long stretches of sunlight down the kitchen table, you slowly picked apart what Gaster had shown you over the years, and threw in the bits that Gaster tossed you, once he realized that he was your one source on how life in the Underground, and monsters in general, functioned. It was a scarce source, considering his loner tendencies, but he tried, and you were appreciative. They soaked it all up like an impatient, endlessly dry sponge. You worried.

Most of it, about Frisk themselves, wasn't important; they had no need to know that their mother had been murdered, or that a half-mad monster had only-just murdered himself over how to care for them, or that said mad monster was more an omnipresent eye on their every step. But what they did need to know, you did your best to explain: their high level of DETERMINATION; the existence of monsters; and how monsters were made of magic and kindness, but more likely to fight at the first sign of a human anyway. You pressed emphasis on their overly-merciful heart, too, as you always had.

Peace before war, and the monsters would come around. War before meeting, and Frisk had the very real possibility of gaining enough power (according to Gaster, since you knew little about how monsters functioned on your own) of burning the Underground down to smoldering ashes. Your Frisk had always been fragile in the heart, and you feared that – even more than any lives they might hurt or ruin – if they started down that path, it would break _them,_ until that path was all they saw. You didn't want the living corpse of your child to be the first thing to come down from the mountain in living memory (you didn't count: no one knew what you'd done, still, except Gaster and Frisk, and they weren't telling).

It felt like time – which usually dripped by you like cool molasses – had forged ahead like a thunderous river. Before you knew it, Frisk was ten, and glancing surreptitiously at you out of the corner of their eye every day. They were strung tight with waiting and anticipation, and you knew that – this time – they would not go without your knowledge. But – also true, perhaps more than the rest – if you showed signs of going back on your promise, they would flee. You weren't sure if it was _their_ fascination with what they knew was under their feet now, if it was the irresistible _draw_ of the mountain's magic, or if it was some combination of the two. You were terrified it didn't make a difference, and that the mountain (or the Underground, or what _ever_ it was that called to your kid) wouldn't let Frisk go once they got there, even if they _did_ free the monsters. But… you were prepared to trust them, and _their_ promise to return once they'd done what they needed to do.

Frisk wasn't _ready_ to leave on such a dangerous journey, but then…. If it was up to you, you suspected that you would _never_ think they were ready. It was a difficult thing, to let them go. But you'd promised, and one of the 'rules' you and Frisk lived by was that neither _ever_ broke a promise to the other.

You, feeling your heart in your throat, didn't drive them home a week after their birthday, in a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was now or never. You wondered how much of what you'd drilled into them they actually remembered, or understood how to apply; you were no monster, and there were so many things the two of you could only _talk_ about, in terms of humans interacting with monsters. It wasn't like either of you were made of magic. You prayed it was enough.

At first, they were confused, but it didn't take them long at all to recognize the path, and you could feel the radiance of their grin on your back.

Under the shadow of the mountain, you hugged them again. Under Gaster's advisement, you'd packed nothing for them; camping equipment would only get in the way, and human food would only spoil. The Underground was small enough that, he assured you, Frisk would always be able to find _someone_ to put them up for the night, or feed them, if they were polite. You felt useless, as you watched them begin their long hike up, through a haze of tears. You feared, if you tried to follow, that the mountain's magic would not only separate you two, but finish it's attempt to swallow you whole. You needed to be back home, so that Frisk would have someone to come back to.

Unlike you, if and when Frisk decided to come back home, there would be someone there to answer them. Even if they came dragging the entire monster population with them. It was what they'd been made for, nearly from the beginning, after all.

And, waiting on the surface, as distant and unknown to those in the Underground as they were to you, you would bide your time until Frisk returned… until _whoever_ their journey made them into came back to you. A hand which could hold nothing in it – incorporeal and too real all at once – slipped around yours; at your side, a permanent smile wasn't so strained, in a familiar, cracked and moon-pale visage; a shadow that never quite reached the ground flickered next to your own. You would never be alone again, and it all started with a small child, a lonely monster, and a vial full of DETERMINATION.

If what rises aboveground is destined to fall back under…. You would have faith that those who chose to fall down would find a way to climb back up, too.


End file.
